WULL HAI THAR
by Twist
Summary: Short fic, no plot, makes little to no sense. You know you want it.


Next week on: I wanted to write a fic without expending any actual effort.

--

It was kind of cold. Not cold, as such, and not even really chilly. Just . . . not warm. That may have been the best way to describe it. The leaves on the trees, though naturally sickly-looking thanks in part to their proximity to the Ankh, were looking just a bit yellower, and one or two had already fallen to the ground.

A thin path wound through the grass, through the trees. That path was, in fact, in a garden; one of the finest and most well-kept gardens in all of Ankh-Morpork.

Two men were walking along the path. Both could be considered tall, though one was taller than the other. The taller one was thin and the shorter had the look of one who had been fit and bulky in his youth, but had since grown portly. They were talking. They had an official appearance about them, both clad in black, the taller one with a white high-collared shirt and a thin black tie under a dusty black robe. They seemed to be deeply in discussion about something. One might imagine them discussing serious things such as matters of state, or the deep philosophical questions of life.

They were not, in fact, discussing anything like that.

Mainly because they were, deep down, guys. And two guys alone _never_ talk about serious things.

"No, _listen_ to me," the shorter one insisted. "You always do this."

"And then she was going on about fifty-foot-high killer golems and of course I had to be all 'Oh, that would be very serious and awful' because I had to be all official but seriously in side I was like 'THAT WOULD BE THE COOLEST THING EVER'," the taller one said, waving his arms. "No seriously, think about it! That would be like . . . like totally music with rocks in." He was practically bouncing with excitement. "I could be like 'Go forth and get our loans back from those bastards in Hergen' and they would be all 'Okay' and I could wave my arms around and yell 'AND SO IT IS DONE' and everyone would be like 'He's the best _ever_.'"

The shorter one blinked. "I'm happy you have such a rich fantasy life," he said finally.

The taller one scowled. "You're such a mood-killer."

"_I'm_ the mood killer? You're the one talking about killer golems."

"All you had to do was say 'Yeah that would be the greatest' but you had to point out that my fantasy will never come true." He sniffed. "I'm mad at you."

"You're such a woman, you know that?"

The taller one coughed. "I like to think I encompass the good aspects of both genders, being that I am unmarried and therefore have no better half on which to rely."

"You're so gay."

"I like women!"

"Yes, I'm sure you do."

"I _do_!"

"You know everyone thinks you're gay with Commander Vimes, right?"

"_WHAT_?" The taller one closed his eyes and stuck his tongue out. "Seriously move, because I am honestly going to throw up."

"No you're – oh. Nice gag reflex."

The taller one wiped his mouth. "Oh gods. That's disgusting."

"You didn't have to imagine it, you know."

"You said it yourself earlier: I have a rich fantasy life. I can't just turn it off."

"It's kind of worrying that you went there in your little fantasy life so quickly."

"I can't help it!"

"Mm-hm."

"Who says I'm gay with Vimes?"

"Women, mostly. They think you two have natural chemisty."

"They need to get out more. Seriously. He's _married_. Happily. He has a kid. And also he hates me, let's not forget that."

"No no, of course not."

There was silence as they walked on for a minute or so. "So you know what would be awesome?"

"World peace? You and Vimes hooking up?"

"_Fifty-foot high killer golems_."

"They make medications for people like you, you know. Could help."

"I don't need drugs."

"Better living through chemistry?"

"Chemistry never makes anything better. Ever."

"I have dormitories full of students who would rejoice to hear you say that."

"You should change the curriculum."

"No."

"Why?"

"I like the occasional chemistry-lab explosion. Keeps everyone on their toes."

"Do field trips to the Alchemists' Guild."

"It's not the same." A pause. "I have to admit, you have me in a bit of a spot with my staff, at the moment."

"What'd I do?"

"That memo you sent me."

"Which one?"

"The one with the picture of the owl on it. Nice art skills, by the way."

A snicker. "I thought it was brilliant."

"I admit I myself laughed. However, most of my staff members disapprove of you sending me a memo that informs everyone the Guild's funding is being cut because of your little Undertaking –"

"It's quite large actually."

"Anyway, and I send back a reply that says, very politely, 'Really?' which was quite concise, and you send back piece of scrap paper which may or may not have been a napkin that just has 'YA RLY' in big letters on it."

"O rly?"

"It's rather unprofessional."

"I'm not very professional. I only know how to use two forks at those official dinners. That's actually why I never eat, you know. Silverware intimidation."

". . . Is it sad that I have to wonder if you're kidding or not when you say things like that?"

"Yes, you should know by now that I never kid. I am extremely serious. All day. Every day."

"Yeah okay." A leaf drifted down into the trout pond as the two paused to observe the young man whose sole task in the gardens was to turn the trout around when it reached the other end. He solemnly preformed his duty and disappeared into the bushes. "So the big secret to the golems is Umnian words and a shiny jacket?"

"Yep."

"That's kind of silly."

"Yep."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's just too simple."

The taller one coughed and looked very serious. "It are fact, verily. I know because of my learnings."

"Well that's good to know."

"Hey, you want to hear my new idea for better performance out of my clerks?"

"These are always good. Should I sit down?"

"You know that Terrence Tate kid in your seventh year class?"

"The hall monitor? Tackles students found without a pass?"

"Yeah him. I was thinking about employing him to manage my clerks. You know. Put a little fear into them."

"You want to hire someone to tackle your clerks?"

"Yeah, that was the drift."

"You know he tackles _everyone_, right? He chased me all the way to my office a week ago."

"Would keep everyone on their toes, am I right? Better than setting fires in chemistry labs."

The shorter one sighed. "Fine, take him. I look forward to seeing a picture of you on the cover of the _Times_ huddled on top of a bookcase in fear or pelting top speed out of the Rats' Chamber to avoid getting tackled."

"I always thought I needed more exercise."

"That's what she said."

The taller one sighed. "Downey, seriously, you _need_ to figure out when to use that phrase before you throw it in anywhere that might be even slightly appropriate. Otherwise it just gets old."

"You're a scag, Vetinari."

"And that was strike three, you're out of witty comments. See you tomorrow, Downey."

The path forked, and they each took a different branch.

-- DID IT FOR THE LULZ

A note for those of you considering telling me they are out of character:

DIAF.

That is all.


End file.
